Coming to a Point
by Ly Merrick
Summary: Santana won't admit it, but something bothers her deep down. She thinks about her too much and can't shake the feeling she gets when she sees her with someone else. She's watched the girl she could love, love everyone but her. They may be friends, but Santana secretly harbors the pain of unrequited feelings. (one-shot)


**Pairing:** Quinn/Santana

**Synopsis:** Santana won't admit it, but something bothers her deep down. She thinks about her too much and can't shake the feeling she gets when she sees her with someone else. She's watched the girl she could love, love everyone but her. They may be friends, but Santana secretly harbors the pain of unrequited feelings.

**Author's Note:** I recently had a very nice person write me a message about my other stories, and they reminded me that I've really been wanting to write a Quinntana one-shot with a lot of heart. There's something about these two girls that has always sort of stuck in the back of my head. I have a Quinntana multi-chapter WIP that I've got, but I wanted to remove everything but the basics and make this a (sort of) short character driven piece. 'Cause when it boils down to it, I feel like Santana's got a bigger heart than she could ever imagine. Lyrics in this piece used from "A Thousand Years" by Christina Perri.

###

_Heart beats fast  
Colors and promises  
How to be brave?  
How can I love when I'm afraid to fall  
But watching you stand alone?_

###

It wasn't easy making everyone believe you were an impenetrable force to be reckoned with, constantly being as cruel as you could possibly be just to keep people at bay. And yet, Santana managed to do it every day. She had let one person in, and then her heart had been broken, and it just wasn't something she wanted to repeat.

She didn't know what it was like to feel like you could be vulnerable to somebody. Vulnerability got your heart broken; trust wasn't something that lingered for very long in Santana's life. She made sure of it. She clammed up any time she felt like she was reaching that edge, when she felt like she might very possibly take a dive in hopes that someone would be there to catch her.

It was this steely exterior that kept Santana safe, but kept her as isolated as any person could bear. Underneath all her cruelty and sexuality, there was a secret place inside her where her loneliness radiated. She had friends, obviously. People loved or feared her, so she was never without the company of an admirer or the attention of a weakling.

She just wasn't interested in putting her real self out there to be injured. Santana would never admit it, but she was fragile as fuck and some matters didn't leave the vault where she locked away everything important in her heart.

She was a little tired of it, sometimes. The Latina loved certain people so deeply that it killed her, withered some part of her, when she couldn't act or fulfill any of the desires she had. It wasn't always sexual, either. Sometimes she just wanted to ask for a hug, and then she'd reign in her emotion and let the feeling pass.

Needless to add, Santana's isolation was beginning to make her feel very sad somewhere deep inside. She was sitting on the bleachers outside the football field; the sky kind of matched her mood – it was a somber grey, and it was just a little chilly. She tucked her hands into her pockets and trotted down the bleachers, hopping over the fence and heading back toward the school.

She didn't always go home right after the day ended. Sometimes she took time to actually _feel _something. When Santana headed inside the emptying building (straggling students and teachers still clearing out), she bee-lined for her locker and grabbed her backpack.

Down the hallway, her eyes caught familiar shapes. Sam was flirting with Quinn. Her expression sobered, just brief enough for her to feel a pang in her chest, but Santana let the feeling go as quickly as it had come. Hoisting her backpack over her shoulder, she tried not to think about the fact that Quinn _not _being a Cheerio anymore meant Santana saw the blonde a lot less than she had. Especially since Santana didn't make a habit of hanging out with anyone outside of school, much to the surprise of many. Sure, Quinn still considered them best friends and nobody was the wiser, but Santana knew there was a gulf between herself and any other person in her life.

And Sam was always flirting with Quinn. It bothered Santana. She knew why, though she'd never breathe a word of that to anyone. Her secret was that she had feelings for Quinn Fabray. Quinn Fabray, who had been both her leader and her friend, who was intricately woven into her life, someone she'd spent more time with than almost anyone else.

Santana was a good actress, because Quinn never knew. No one did. The first time she'd ever had feelings for Quinn, they'd been lying on top of Santana's roof looking at the stars. The Latina had looked over under the dark of the sky and seen Quinn animatedly pointing out a star cluster, and she realized she kind of wanted to kiss Quinn. She didn't want to kiss Quinn just to get in her pants. Santana knew how to manipulate people. She didn't want to manipulate the blonde into a frenzy of teenage hormones. She had just wanted to kiss Quinn to see what it felt like, to see how it would feel to have Quinn's fingers on the back of her neck and look into those hazel eyes after the fact, to see the expression that would follow. Only … she never kissed Quinn. She had never acted on any of it.

So she ignored Sam flirting with the girl she liked, turned her eyes away, and left the building.

Quinn must have spotted her, because Santana felt a hand at her shoulder, tugging, "Hey, did you wanna come over tonight?" The blonde asked, somewhat out of breath from running after her. "I got the new Modern Warfare," it was kind of their thing. Video games. Especially when they had been freshmen or younger, they'd gotten together to play video games.

Santana had told Quinn no a thousand times in the last two years. She was surprised the blonde still asked her to hang out; she'd used every excuse she had been able to, and it never seemed to stop Quinn from asking. She thought about saying no, but something in her caused her to shrug her shoulder.

She missed Quinn. It couldn't hurt to hang out just one night.

"Sure, sounds cool."

"See if you can stay the night," Quinn added. The blonde wrapped her arms around Santana so briefly that she almost didn't realize it was happening until it was too late. Her hands squeezed at Quinn for a second, her eyes dropping shut, but before it became conspicuous she stepped back. "See you at seven?"

Santana nodded, headed down the sidewalk. Quinn's embrace lingered on her like the ghost of a scent, like an echo. Even after she got home.

###

When she arrived at Quinn's, the sight of the Fabray house (which really could be called a mini-mansion) brought back memories of nights spent here, nights that Santana felt were bittersweet in the way she both loved and hated how much she cherished stupid, simple moments with the blonde. She rang the doorbell and gave a small smile at Judy Fabray lit up at the sight of her.

"It's been a long time, Santana!" The older woman ushered her in, wrapping an arm around Santana's shoulders and making her feel just a little uncomfortable because normally she didn't like people touching her. Unless they were Quinn, and even then _that _was kind of painful but for different reasons. "How are you?"

"Good, Mrs. Fabray. Quinn upstairs?"

"Yes! I'm sure she's excited you could stay. You girls know where everything is if you need anything," Judy answered, giving a sort of dismissing squeeze to Santana's shoulders.

The Latina nodded, headed up the stairs and realized that coming over here, agreeing to stay the night, could be potentially emotionally difficult. See, the reason she'd spent the last year or so completely avoiding alone time with Quinn was that over time her feelings had grown so overpowering that she dreamt about Quinn, thought about Quinn, yearned for any moment that those hazel eyes would find hers.

The blonde opened her door just as Santana was about to do so herself, and the Latina stepped back out of instinct so they didn't crash together.

"Oh, hey, good, you're here," Quinn motioned Santana in and closed the door behind her. She got right down to business and tossed Santana an Xbox remote. "Ready to rack up the kills?"

Santana chuckled, rolling her eyes a little and setting her bag down, "First one to 50 gets whatever they want," she collapsed onto Quinn's bean bag chair. Quinn sat beside her, as eager as a 10-year-old boy, and it was hard not to smile at the sight of her enthusiasm. "You're such a nerd."

"Yeah, don't tell anyone," Quinn looked over at her, grinned in that way that made her eyes glint.

Santana tried not to linger on that smile too much, but like all her memories, it remained in the back of her mind and sometimes made her heart thump a little.

###

Quinn got to 50 kills first. So in her cruel way, she was making Santana run up and down the massive staircase 30 times. As the blonde sat at the very top stair, watching Santana come up and down the staircase, she was wearing a smug expression that vexed Santana.

"Tell me," Santana panted on her seventh ascension of the staircase, "why are you making me run like your name is Sue Sylvester?"

"Because I'm punishing you," Quinn answered simply. "You haven't hung out with me in a long, long time and I have to say, that bothers me a little bit. And I know you won't tell me why because you're Santana. So I'm punishing you." The ex-Cheerio had narrowed those bright hazel eyes at her and Santana was panting.

"You're kind of a bitch."

"Oh, I know." Quinn rested her chin on a closed fist. "So," her voice carried down the stairs as Santana ran to the bottom of the stairs, "I have an offer. You can stop running up and down these stairs, _if _you tell me why you stopped hanging out with me."

"I had things to do."

"_And, _every time you lie, you add another lap."

"What?" Santana said, out of breath, halfway up the stairs and stopping. "You're crazy."

"Then don't lie to me."

Quinn's expression went from playful, to a kind of serious curiosity. She was frowning a little at Santana, the Latina realized.

"Keep running."

Santana obeyed, panting and trying to catch her breath, realizing she was kinda breaking a sweat on these damn stairs. Why was the Fabray house so big anyway?

"How about this," Quinn leaned back on her elbows as Santana ascended the stairs again, her lithe form relaxed in front of the Latina. "I'll tell you why I think you did, and if I'm right, you stop running."

"This is ridiculous," Santana clenched her teeth as she ran. "You're like a crazy person. I hope you know that."

Quinn shrugged her shoulders. "So, how about … you hate me."

Santana kept running. "I hate you right _now, _yeah."

"You're secretly a drug lord," Quinn suggested with a wry smile. "Now you're up to 32 laps because you lied. You don't hate me."

"Thirty is an absolutely fucking insane amount of times to –" Santana panted, her legs aching as she started her descent, "—run these stupid fucking stairs."

"You have a secret lover that's an espionage agent so you spent part of your time in a top secret lair."

"That's ridiculous."

"You're battling a dramatic illness."

"Yeah and I have an evil twin who is going to show up mysteriously in two weeks and take over my life. Come on," Santana's words came out in puffs of breath, "this isn't an episode of the _Young and the Restless_."

"New rule. If you say something honest, you can stop and I take a lap off."

"You're clearly just making shit up and I'm wondering why I came over tonight."

"31 laps," Quinn was grinning down at Santana. "You can stop if you just tell me why you stopped being my best friend." This part was a little more honest.

Santana frowned, stalling on the stairs. "I'm still – "

"Lie. 32 laps."

The Latina groaned.

"Okay, so if I'm right, you stop running," Quinn continued. "You don't hate me. You've been avoiding me."

Santana stopped on the stairs, averting her gaze and catching her breath, "What's the point of this weird interrogation?"

"You stopped. I was right. You _were _avoiding me."

"I was avoiding everyone."

"Lie. Start running."

Santana practically growled in displeasure. "I am kicking your ass when I'm done."

"Lie. 33."

"Fuck! You're … nuts, Quinn."

Running up and down those stairs was a kind of torture Santana could deal with, even if it meant feeling really worn out. What she couldn't handle was facing Quinn and telling her that she had been avoiding her; certainly that must have hurt Quinn. What she _definitely _couldn't do was tell Quinn the whole truth.

"Well?" Santana panted, feeling sweat drip down the side of her neck as she ran.

"You avoided me," Quinn murmured simply. "Just me."

Santana paused on the steps, gripping the railing and panting. She found it difficult, but she met Quinn's eyes, giving a small nod.

"I did something to make you angry," the blonde suggested.

Santana shook her head.

"Something was happening at home?"

Another shake of her head.

Quinn responded with a frown, standing and descending the stairs to meet Santana in the middle. She was just a step above, enough to look down into Santana's eyes as the Latina drew her gaze upward. "Is it something I did?"

"Besides this," Santana panted the words, motioning to the staircase and holding her stomach as she tried to catch her breath, "No."

Quinn nodded. "You probably won't tell me why, then, will you?" She was looking imploringly at the exhausted Cheerio.

Her dark gaze rose again, searched Quinn's face.

Quinn must have gotten some kind of answer from Santana's expression, because she simply nodded. She offered her hand, tugged Santana up the stairs. Santana tried not to think about the way her heart raced for a different reason; the interrogation had come close to some kind of truth, some kind of confession. And if she was truthful with herself, the idea of being vulnerable was debilitating. She felt Quinn's hand in her own, thought about sparing moments they'd shared in the past – embraces, comforting gestures – and she found herself resisting the urge to squeeze the ex-Cheerio's hand in her own.

"I didn't do it to hurt you," Santana murmured the words when Quinn shut her door. The blonde disappeared just long enough to reappear with a towel, tossing it at Santana. "Just so you know."

"I know," Quinn nodded and sat down on the bean bag chair, elbows on her knees as she craned her neck a bit to look at Santana. "You wouldn't do that."

"I'm sorry," Santana mumbled with a kind of shame. She averted her eyes.

"It's okay. Watching you exhaust yourself on the stairs made up for any time I might have been angry with you," the blonde was smirking up at Santana. "You know you can trust me, right?" Her voice dipped into a kind of seriousness, and she was staring down at her fidgeting fingers when Santana finally let herself look at Quinn.

The Latina stopped dabbing the sweat from her forehead. She felt a kind of sadness that she had alienated Quinn. It wasn't what she'd wanted … she'd just done it to protect herself. She had done it out of fear. Santana set the towel down and slid off the bed, kneeling on the ground before Quinn. "I know," she offered quietly.

"Why are you so scared of everyone?"

It was a question that maybe Santana hadn't really expected.

"People are dangerous," Santana answered after a moment of reflecting on how to answer. "Especially people you care about. They have power over you. They could decide one day they're done with you, or say something that you don't want to hear, and then they can just be gone from your life." It was probably the most honest answer she'd ever given anyone – including herself.

"If they really care about you," Quinn's voice softened in a way that made Santana ache. She felt a hand at the side of her face, stroking her cheek and catching stray black hairs, "they won't do that to you."

The Latina laughed. "Some people don't mean to hurt the people they love," she answered just as simply, patting Quinn's hand softly as a means of dismissing the comfort.

"You have a million excuses, a million voices in your head that convince you that you shouldn't trust anyone, and you're the loneliest person I have ever met."

The truth hurt, and Santana couldn't hide it. Though she offered a joyless smirk, she furrowed her brow and stared at the space between her and Quinn.

"Let me back in," Quinn's voice was a bare whisper, and Santana was suddenly enveloped in the ex-Cheerio's arms. The blonde was kind of pressing her back against the couch, hugging Santana in a way that forced Santana to respond. So she did. Her hands slipped around Quinn, her fingers skirting upward to her shoulder-blades.

She was clutching Quinn in a way she'd been wanting to do for a long time, holding on to her, essentially clinging to her because it was the most honest thing she could do right now. Santana's eyes fluttered shut, and she buried her face against the familiar warmth of Quinn's neck and shoulders.

"I don't want you to be alone in there," Quinn whispered against her ear. "You're my best friend. I want to be in there with you. It's my job."

Santana chuckled, and she found herself smiling despite the deep ache in her chest. She wanted to be more than Quinn's best friend, she wanted so much more than that.

When Quinn pulled away, the blonde's hand cascaded down Santana's arm and the Latina's hand was covered in both of Quinn's. "If you don't agree, I'll just have to make you run the stairs again."

Santana rolled her eyes, laughing a little. However, when she let herself take a breath, she finally matched Quinn's gaze and searched the face that she kind of loved. A lot. If Quinn knew, maybe she wouldn't be so eager to be inside Santana's head with her. "Whatever, Fabray," she murmured in a throaty kind of way, but she smiled.

###

"What would you do if I fell off this roof and into your pool?" Santana questioned, tipping her head down just enough that she could see the edge of the roof and the fall that would follow. Her ankles where hooked on Quinn's legs so she wouldn't fall, but she was lying on her stomach on a roof that was angled quite drastically. It was a little thrilling.

She felt happy, despite the fact she'd just been psychoanalyzed and somehow ended up letting Quinn (sort of) see what was going on in her head. She was getting to spend time with the person that she'd missed sorely for a long time. And even the simplicity of having her ankles hooked through Quinn's legs felt like she was – also literally – finally connected with the girl she'd missed so much. The girl she tried to alienate. For now, her pervading loneliness and sadness was gone.

"Why are you afraid of me, specifically?" Quinn asked when they had lapsed into silence. Santana's was watching the pool, her hands hanging over the edge, eyes cast down the 36ft drop to the glistening water below.

"Are we on this again?"

"Yeah, I mean, you're afraid I could hurt you, but why me? Why would it matter if it was me?"

"Quinn, dude, I love that you're trying to be all … helpful in working out my issues. You're like Dr. Phil right now and I'm just not feelin' it."

"Is it because there's something you … is it something about how you feel?"

"You're my best friend," Santana answered under her breath, really not wanting to have the rest of this conversation. "You matter more."

"It's more than that."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because Britt was your best friend and your ex-girlfriend and you never avoided her like that. I'm different to you and I don't understand why."

"You're what I have left. I don't have Britt anymore. I don't have anyone anymore. You're the last person sailing the Santana ship."

Santana knew her answers were skirting around the truth, avoiding it at all costs. She was blowing off some very deep feelings, some very deep pains. And even now it pained her to think that Quinn could break her heart without even realizing it. That's what happened when you had unrequited feelings.

"You know I'm smarter than you think, Lopez," Quinn's voice was almost a grumble. She grabbed Santana's ankles and started tugging her up the incline, Santana righting herself and crawling up the roof. She just so happened to crawl right into Quinn's space.

"That's what you think."

"Let's see," Quinn watched Santana sit down, opposite her, and they locked ankles so neither would feel as if they were going to fall off the roof. "You bolted when you saw me with Sam."

Santana grit her teeth and didn't answer. Her expression was a little sour. "Quinn…"

"You bolt every time somebody flirts with me."

"I'm warning you, I really don't think we should talk about this 'cause I could get pissed off and I just .. I'm … you're freaking me out, okay?" Her mind was scrambled. Quinn either knew or was getting close to knowing and Santana's heart was racing. She stood, tilting forward as she walked up the roof, opened Quinn's skylight, and dropped down into the room. She immediately lay down on Quinn's bed, her face to the wall. She heard gentle thuds of Quinn walking across the roof, and the blonde landed with a light _thud _when she dropped through the skylight.

"You stopped hanging out with me that night we were on the roof; you looked at me and I saw something in your eyes, like you realized something, and after that you shut down on me because you can't face something." Quinn pressed, just as challenging as Santana ever was. That's why she kind of loved the girl. She matched her, challenged her. Scared the hell out of her.

"Fabray, you're getting into dangerous territory and if I had known you were paying attention to little shit I would've made myself way more scarce."

"Because running away is easier?" Quinn's weight shifted the mattress as she climbed in bed beside Santana. She looped a leg over Santana's and used her body weight to roll Santana over. The blonde was straddling her and Santana was fighting her on it. This was not fucking expected.

"This is not fucking cool. If you invited me over here to play games with my head," Santana felt defensive, felt herself shutting back down. She was quite literally pinned down.

"Tell me what you're afraid of?"

"I'm not afraid of shit, Fabray!"

"Bullshit," Quinn answered with the same aggression, "I don't believe you, _Lopez._"

"Oh, 'cause you know everything that goes on in my head?"

"No, but I can guess."

"You don't know shit."

"You were just letting me in an hour ago and you only went back to being defensive because I was getting to the truth."

"Bullshit," Santana bucked her hips upward as if to throw Quinn off, but she failed miserably. She tried to free her wrists from Quinn's hands. And then she realized Quinn was really doing this to her, that it was Quinn, and her heart beat all the faster. She somewhat collapsed onto the mattress in defeat. Dark eyes gazed up at Quinn's challenging glare.

"The truth is what, Santana? You were running away from me because you couldn't deal with the fact that –"

"Stop!" Santana closed her eyes, breathing deeply. She was terrified. Her terror inspired an upwelling of emotion, tears springing to her eyes. "Don't … don't do this, don't make me give it up. Nobody knows, nobody is supposed to know. I can't … it could make me lose you."

"Who's the one who doesn't know anything now?" Quinn answered, letting go of Santana's hands. She still remained seated on top of Santana, however. The expression on her face had totally changed.

"Don't do that to me," she breathed. "Don't fuck with me head or try to get in it. Don't … you don't know," Santana sat up, her emotions welling up inside of her. She was terrified, though it had nothing to do with the fact their bodies now lingered achingly close and Quinn refused to look away.

"You really think I'd go anywhere?" Quinn asked simply, "You think I'd abandon you?"

"You wouldn't want to be around me if you knew. It'd make you uncomfortable," the words were just kind of stumbling out at this point and Santana was panicking.

"Grow some balls, Lopez, and open your eyes," Quinn roughly angled Santana's face so the Latina would have to look at her. "You really think I don't know? Do you know how hard it is to fucking send you a signal?"

Santana's brows furrowed, "You're fucking with me. You're playing with me. You're… but Sam is always .."

"And you didn't notice that every time he flirts with me I turn him down? You didn't notice that when I get away from him I go looking for you? And you avoid me at all costs."

Santana felt her breath coming a little less easy.

"You're an idiot, Santana."

"Fuck off," Santana spat and as she got off the bed, she felt Quinn roughly grab her arm and pull her back down to the bed.

"Stop fighting me for one second," Quinn murmured.

Santana's heart felt like it was aching tremendously.

"You're playing with me."

"Why would I do that to you?"

"Because I'm not … "

"Because nobody in their right mind could possibly see you as more than you pretend to be and want to be a part of that?"

Santana was struck silent.

"Do you know how many times I wanted to call you? Text you? Find you? Show up at your window? When I realized what was going on, why you didn't want to be around me, I wanted to … slap you so hard. That you could have been that blind."

"You're lying."

"Do you know how many times," Quinn's voice softened, and Santana felt Quinn take her hand, pull it to her lap and cover it both with her own, "I dreamed about you. It wasn't anything … it wasn't even like sex dreams. It was like… I'd dream that you were sleeping next to me and you'd hold me, or I'd get snapshots of this," she laid Santana's hand flat and gently threaded her fingers through Santana's; Santana was really confused or maybe just unable to accept that something good was happening. Quinn was kissing the top of her hand, her knuckles, her kisses lingering.

"Stop," Santana whispered, closing her eyes.

"I know you're scared," Quinn murmured softly. She gently lifted Santana's hand, kissed each knuckle one by one.

"I'm making this up or something, this isn't…"

Quinn took Santana's hand, spread her palm and pressed Santana's palm to her heart. "I'm not lying, I'm not toying with you, this isn't something happening in your head. What you feel right there is real."

Quinn's heart was hammering.

Santana was trying to figure it out. It had hit her so suddenly, Quinn's confession. "Why are you doing this now? Why right now?"

"Because the only way for you to stop running away is to know that you don't have to run away from me, that whatever you feel, I feel it too," Quinn insisted with a crack of emotion in her voice. She moved forward, leaving little space between them.

"Please," Santana murmured in a weak way.

Quinn shook her head, and maneuvered one knee between Santana's, gently pushed her back onto the bed. Her thigh was in between Santana's and Santana felt an unbearable ache flare up. Quinn's fingers trailed their way up Santana's throat, and Quinn hovered inches from her face. "The only way you're going to believe me is if I show you."

She could smell the sweet musk of Quinn's perfume, felt the long blonde locks of hair slipping down onto her arms as Quinn moved in. And Quinn's dilated hazel eyes pinned Santana where she was.

"I can't survive it if you hurt me," Santana breathed the confession, shame dripping off every syllable. Her hand had gone to Quinn's arm, as if to stop her from getting closer.

Quinn shook her head, gently disengaged Santana's hand and moved it to her ass. Santana groaned a little under her breath, and couldn't help but squeeze the firmness of it. Quinn made a small, sensual sound of approval, and a predatory grin broke over her face. The blonde was suddenly on Santana, the pressure and warmth of her body on top of Santana's was almost too much – her heart felt like it was going to explode. Quinn ground her hip downward just a bit, enough to make Santana bite back a groan at the action itself. "If you're not going to make the first move, I will," Quinn whispered before leaning down, capturing Santana's lips with her own. She sucked on Santana's bottom lip, then let her tongue trail where she had been rough, and finally covered her mouth with Santana's.

The Latina's heart felt like it was going to explode. It was her dream come true but a part of her was still sure she was imagining it. And then, as if to clarify she wasn't, Quinn's kiss became hungry and sensual, burning Santana from the inside out. To her surprise, Quinn was again guiding Santana's hand somewhere else, but she didn't realize where it was until she felt warmth and wetness, hot folds of flesh around her fingertips.

Quinn rocked into the touch, letting go of Santana's hand and kissed her to suppress a moan.

Oh, this was hot. This was all kinds of hot. Santana knew what she wanted to do and she was going to do it. It was obvious she'd been a dumbass for quite some time. How had she not known the feelings were not only known but mutual? With her free hand, she grabbed Quinn's ass and squeezed, 'causing the blonde's hips to cant down against Santana's fingers, her palm grazing over an erect clit. The Latina kissed Quinn hard, hungrily, finally freeing all the needs she'd had for a very long time. Quinn was moaning, particularly when Santana pressed two fingers deep inside the girl in such a way that it made Quinn arch back, her hips canting forward. Watching Quinn ride her this way was heaven. Those hazel eyes were full of desire, full of emotion and want. It was setting Santana on fire everywhere. Quinn's hips undulated, writhed, canted down and into the demanding touch inside her, her hips jutting outward with each thrust, and she let out a loud, vulgar moan that turned Santana on – she made that sound every time Santana curled her fingers and pressed just the right way; she followed with a relentless rhythm against the spot, and soon she knew Quinn would come.

When she did, she moaned Santana's name in a way that ignited Santana's urges even more. The ex-Cheerio was beyond the point of return, moaning and quivering, thighs and insides locking around Santana's touch – she'd been missing out on a lot and intended to make up for it.

"How long?" Santana's voice was near a pant. She was out of breath from her own arousal, and it didn't help that, when Santana's fingers emerged, Quinn had taken them and sucked the very tips, and followed with a deep, passionate kiss.

"Too long," Quinn breathed between kisses. "I couldn't wait anymore."

Santana was teasing Quinn's breasts, using the friction of the fabric of her shirt to play with Quinn's nipples. Soon it wasn't enough – she was licking, sucking, biting the erect skin, enough to make Quinn plead with her. She assaulted the blonde until she was beyond a state of pleasure. She'd bring Quinn to a state of Nirvana by the time she was done with her. She maneuvered Quinn to the end of the bed and roughly tugged her pants off, then her underwear, and when she saw no hesitation from Quinn, her mouth trailed hot kisses up the inner part of each thigh. Quinn's musk was intoxicating. Santana pushed Quinn's thighs apart, and took Quinn's clit between her teeth gently, tugging just enough to draw a gasp, and then sucking delicately at the bud. Quinn's hips were writhing above Santana's head, the girl making noises that would make anyone blush. Quinn was in a state of bliss, and so was Santana. The blonde tasted good, and something about knowing she was the one making Quinn moan the way she was, plead and beg the way she was, made the whole act that much more addicting. Santana sucked, sometimes slowing the rhythm of her tongue against Quinn's clit.

She knew what Quinn needed, from the way she was mewling and gasping, pleading, and she pressed two fingers deep inside the girl, massaging, finding her insides still throbbing and grasping at her fingers from before. Santana was a relentless lover. She continued to suck and tease Quinn's aching nub, all the while claiming Quinn's insides as her own, in the way her fingers curled, pressed, drove themselves into a place where no one had ever been. She was claiming Quinn as her own, now that she knew she could. She'd make sure Quinn would never forget this. Her mouth was busy with Quinn's extra-sensitive nub, her fingers massaging and pressing in ways that made Quinn mewl and squirm and grab at Santana's hair. She could feel another orgasm coming on, because Quinn's breath came farther and farther apart, her muscles going rigid, and Santana sucked all the harder, all the more passionately, her fingers pressing down in just the right place, and Quinn's fingers drove themselves into Santana's hair and held the Latina between her legs, hips writhing against the assault, gasping and incoherent words exploding from Quinn's mouth. So Santana kept going, kept going until Quinn cried out in final release and went limp, body trembling massively, and Santana pressed kisses to Quinn's heat, to her thighs, before coming up her body and taking her in her arms. She took off what was left of Quinn's clothing, mouth finding a perfect nipple and sucking. Her own hips writhed a little at the action, since making Quinn come that hard had turned Santana on beyond coherence. She pulled Quinn to her, kissed her hard, and moaned in approval as Quinn was rough and demanding, shoving Santana's jacket off, her shirt, discarding the bra, and Santana tried to regain the situation by pinning Quinn again, but it didn't work. Quinn's eager hands slid down Santana's thigh and up it, unbuttoning her jeans and unceremoniously shoving her fingers to the place where Santana was throbbing and filled with need.

She already ached all over, but as soon as Quinn's fingers slipped inside her and started doing things she'd never had done before? It was as if her body was crying out in both painful and pleasurable ways. She rocked slowly into Quinn's touch, kissing her when she could and clutching Quinn to her. She rocked, her hips canting into the touch, aching for it. They weren't having sex. This wasn't just sex. As Quinn kissed her on the mouth and fucked her slow, deep, she realized they were making love. She moaned into Quinn's mouth, rocking her hips upward. It was all she'd ever dreamed of, all she'd ever wanted, to be this intimate with the girl she loved.

The blonde moaned into Santana's ear and it made Santana's eyes roll back in her head. Quinn was suddenly pumping harder, holding on to the Latina and guiding her every motion with loving, gentle touches on her hips. Quinn's fingers did things Santana didn't even know Quinn's fingers could do, but she seemed to hit a spot and suddenly the Latina was begging, thrusting her hips in response, "Right there," she gasped, groaning and her eyes fluttering shut, small whimpers coming from her throat, "Mm—baby," She was thrusting, needing more, and when Quinn responded precisely as Santana needed her to, suddenly she felt like she was in a frenzy, clawing at Quinn's shoulders and gasping out incoherent words with, "_God, _fuck .. yes.. that.. do that…harder," she felt like an animal, her hips driving so insistently and Quinn matching her rhythm for rhythm, that soon Santana felt that swelling inside her heart. Her body started to respond by locking up, her breath stopping once in a while, whimpering and locking eyes with Quinn.

"You're mine," Quinn growled against Santana's mouth before kissing her, hard, hard enough to bruise. At those words, Santana lost it. Her hand flew to clamp on to any part of Quinn she could, her whole body – inside and out – going rigid as she moaned and gasped, and then the release came and she cried Quinn's name against Quinn's mouth.

She'd never felt like that before with anyone. Never reached that point at the service of another human being. And the way Quinn's fingers massaged, coaxed more pleasure out of her, she found herself moaning again and arching her neck back, her hips moving for her. She felt as if she'd lost all control. What she didn't expect was for Quinn to remove her fingers and in an instant, the blonde's mouth was taking Santana to a whole new level. There was biting and sucking, the feel of fingers moving deep inside her, pressing in all the right places and she was being fucked relentlessly, hard, teeth teasing her clit before it was replaced with a hot mouth.

When Santana came, she left welts on Quinn's shoulders, having dug her nails so deep in reaction, her body arching back and throbbing all over. And when Quinn crawled up her body, sealed their mouths together and kissed her with passion and adoration, Santana knew she'd been an idiot for hiding away for so long.

They weren't in love yet, but she knew Quinn wasn't going _anywhere._

As they lay wrapped in Quinn's bed, bare flesh entwined, sharing lazy kisses that bordered on sensual, passionate kisses, Quinn whispered against Santana's lips, "Don't leave me again."

And never again would she. She had everything she wanted. Falling in love took time, but they were well on their way.


End file.
